A few hours had passed since his intense talk with Ajuka, and Dante found himself feeling just a bit lightheaded. The overload of information, expectations, and revelations about his future weighed heavily on him. If he was going to hold the name "Gremory" without dragging it through the mud, he'd have to step up in more ways than he could count.
It unnerved Dante more than he'd admit—this noble air the devils carried. They paraded dignity, poise, and grace, but something about it felt... disingenuous. When he voiced his concerns to Sirzechs earlier, the crimson-haired Devil King had laughed.
"Believe me, the demons before us were far worse," he'd said with a smirk. "They made us look like saints. Tyrants, manipulators, outright bastards to their own kind."
The more you know.
Despite the noble training looming over his future like an exam he hadn't studied for, Dante now found himself sitting stiffly inside an opulent white carriage. It was extravagant to a fault, like something ripped straight out of a royal wedding procession. The red velvet cushions sank slightly under his weight, and the golden silk curtains swayed gently with the carriage's motion. Frankly, it all felt too much for what amounted to a glorified taxi ride to the Gremory estate.
What made it worse was the fact that Sirzechs kept stealing glances at him—long, calculating glances that had Dante shifting awkwardly from one plush cushion to another. It wasn't just the stares; it was the flicker of nervousness in Sirzechs' crimson eyes that really unsettled him.
Eventually, he broke the silence.
"Is there a reason for the staring?" Dante asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice as he adjusted his posture again.
Sirzechs blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Ah… apologies. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I'm simply… nervous. I've been trying to come up with a way to introduce you to my mother and father."
Dante grunted in acknowledgment. Fair enough. It would be pretty awkward to just drop the news that he'd randomly adopted a human into one of the most prestigious devil families. Dante just hoped there wouldn't be any ridiculous costume involved in the process—green short shorts and a yellow cape flashed through his mind unbidden. For some reason, that just fit the situation.
He suppressed a visible shudder.
God, please don't let me become a sidekick. Especially not one named after a bird.
"Are your parents racist against humans?" Dante asked suddenly, glancing out the window. He could've sworn he saw a castle nestled on the edge of a mountain a second ago.
Sirzechs turned toward him with a puzzled expression. "Is that one of the terms used in your time?"
Dante sighed and facepalmed. "Shit. Sorry. I meant to ask if your parents dislike humans. I'm still adjusting, you know? A millennium ahead of my time, and all that jazz."
Sirzechs offered a small, amused smile. "As far as I know, no. I've never really heard them speak about humans in the same tone other noble families do. But... why do you ask? Are you planning on revealing your human origin to them as well?"
The tone in Sirzechs' voice was tinged with something new—skepticism, maybe even concern. But Dante only shrugged, calm and confident.
"I guess it just seems better to be honest with them," he said. "They're going to be my family, right? If I lie now, and they find out later... that just screws both of us over. Might as well come clean while I still have the guts."
Sirzechs turned to look out the window, a wistful shadow darkening his expression.
"It's not that simple," he murmured. "My parents are... a little strange."
Dante chuckled. "Buddy, strange parents are my specialty. My dad practically weaponized dad jokes. Every time my friends came over, it was like being ambushed by a pun bomb. And my mom? Treated everyone like family until I was eighteen. Didn't matter if it was my best friend or the pizza guy."
Sirzechs arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? What kind of jokes did your father tell?"
Dante smirked. "Alright. Say, 'I'm hungry.'"
Sirzechs tilted his head slightly, unsure but playing along. "I'm hungry."
Dante straightened up, deadpan expression locked in. "Hi hungry. I'm dad."
Silence.
The soft creaking of the carriage and the hum of the magic crest driving it forward were the only sounds for a beat. Then, like a volcano bursting, Sirzechs erupted into uncontrollable laughter.
It wasn't polite chuckling or amused snickering. No, the man was howling, clutching his stomach as if Dante had physically wounded him. His laughter echoed off the carriage walls, bouncing around like the physical embodiment of chaos. He wheezed, gasped for air, tried to compose himself—and failed. Miserably.
Dante stared, stunned. He hadn't expected much from that joke. Confusion? Maybe. A deadpan stare? Sure. But this?
Either devil humor was criminally underfed or Sirzechs was secretly the easiest audience in all creation. Maybe both.
Then came the real tragedy.
"Oh, I have to tell Father," Sirzechs said, eyes sparkling with mischief. "He'd run with this forever."
Dante went pale. "Please don't. I beg you. Don't unleash that hell."
Sirzechs grinned, devilish in more ways than one. "Oh no, this is too good to be kept secret. This will be passed down from generation to generation. A new Gremory tradition."
Dante slumped back into the cushions with a groan.
It was thirty minutes later when Sirzechs finally climbed out of what Dante had dubbed his "giggle mode."
The man had been stuck in a perpetual loop of wheezing laughter, and for the better part of that half-hour, Dante watched as the usually composed Devil King devolved into a barely functional comedian. Honestly, it was both hilarious and terrifying. Dante had joked about devils being humor-deprived, but now he genuinely feared the power a single dad joke could wield down here.
Even now, though Sirzechs had mostly calmed down, a lingering smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, far brighter than the somber look he had been wearing earlier. Dante supposed that was a better look for him—less divine executioner, more eccentric uncle.
The carriage fell into a tranquil silence as Dante turned his attention to the world beyond the golden silk curtains.
Ajuka's territory had been a bleak and lifeless sprawl—a harsh rocky plain scorched by infernal winds and ash-darkened skies. But here? Gremory territory was something entirely different. It was breathtaking.
Vast fields of green stretched endlessly across rolling hills like a prairie blessed by nature itself. The grass danced with the wind, each blade catching flickers of ambient magic. In the distance, an awe-inspiring mountain range rose like the bones of ancient titans. One particular peak pierced the heavens, lost within storm clouds that raged in red lightning, flashes cracking constantly within the thick, churning mass. It was shrouded in mystery, like the gate to some forgotten god's throne.
The sky was unlike anything he'd seen before, not even in video games or fantasy art. A sweeping tapestry of amethyst purples, deep blues, radiant pinks, and blood-warm reds stretched from horizon to horizon, streaked with golden currents of raw magic. The stars shone like jewels nestled in velvet, twinkling with ancient secrets. The whole view looked like Sovngarde from Skyrim, if Sovngarde had been painted by someone tripping on godhood.
Dante leaned forward slightly, mesmerized. For a brief, beautiful moment, the sheer majesty of the land made him forget just how royally screwed he was.
But the thoughts crept back in. They always did.
Ajuka's warning and insight weighed on him. If he wanted to survive—let alone make a difference in the civil war tearing this realm apart—he needed to understand his own powers. And fast.
Telekinesis. Damage negation. Age manipulation. That was just the tip of the iceberg. Dante knew his so-called "beginner's setup" was absurdly strong. But the world around him was equally absurd, and he had no illusions that raw power alone would carry him. Whatever entity or force had dumped him here had done its best to outfit him with a fighting chance. Now, it was on him to make that chance count.
Which led to the next terrifying reality: a week-long training regimen under Sirzechs Gremory himself.
Ajuka had assured him this was no glorified boot camp. Sirzechs was a master swordsman—a decorated war hero of the Great War who had stood against angels and fallen gods alike. At first, Dante had scoffed at the idea of a guy who giggled at dad jokes being a legendary warrior. But once Ajuka dropped the war-hero line, Dante wisely shut his mouth.
Soon, he'd see that skill firsthand. And probably get the hell beat out of him in the process.
Ajuka had also speculated that Dante's powers might evolve with emotional strain, shifting from their defensive nature toward something more offensive, something more refined. But Dante had doubts. No matter how intense training got, nothing could replicate the raw adrenaline and fear of true battle.
Unless Sirzechs literally tried to kill him—and judging by the man's sense of humor, that wasn't entirely off the table.
What puzzled Dante most was why Sirzechs was taking this time for him. Why leave his legion for a week? The answer came just before their departure. Apparently, the last mission they undertook—a raid into Halphes territory—had been the final tour of their current deployment. A week of rest and recruitment now followed, giving Sirzechs the perfect window to train Dante without neglecting his forces.
And if Dante wanted to officially join the devil military, he would have to earn it.
No shortcuts. No favors.
Sirzechs had made it clear: favoritism bred resentment. If Dante wanted allies, not enemies, he had to go through the proper channels.
That meant passing the recruitment trial. A test of strength and control, structured in a brutal tournament style. Candidates would first be evaluated by their demonic energy output to determine eligibility. From there, they'd fight in one-on-one matches to earn their standing, facing increasingly difficult opponents until they either triumphed or were knocked out.
The final prize? The title of Knight Sentinel—the highest rank a new recruit could achieve. And if he passed, he would be placed directly under Sirzechs' command.
Obvious favoritism.
Flattering, sure. Being seen as a potential messiah for the devils during the time of the "Great Divide" was a hell of a title. But Dante had lived a life that taught him humility. Pride wasn't something he had the luxury to afford. It never had a place in his survival, and he sure as hell wasn't about to let it grow now.
Pride goeth before the fall, as they say.
And the next fall in front of him wasn't from war or training. No, the greatest test at this very moment was far more insidious.
Sirzechs' family.
Strange, he'd said. That word could mean anything.
Stuck-up nobility? Socially awkward hermits? Hyperactive eccentrics with dangerous amounts of magic?
Dante wasn't sure which version scared him more.
Then Sirzechs broke the silence.
"We are here."